Now I See
by Sardonic Wit
Summary: After an accident changes Clarice's life, she is forced to see the truth and find her way.


Silently, the figures moved in the relative darkness, shoes treading softly and without a sound upon the hard concrete. In the half-light of the underground basement, lit only by a small window on one end, the letters FBI were emblazoned across the front of their bulletproof vests. A female was in the lead, dark auburn hair pulled out of her face and swaying behind her in a ponytail. Her eyes seemed almost to glow as they searched out her prey, brow furrowed as she realized there was no one in here but her and the other men. "Clear." She stated, voice resonating across the space. Her stance relaxed.

Her first drug raid as a leader, and all seemed to be going quite well. Clarice moved around the tables, reminiscing about how it had taken her five long years to get to this point. After the interviews with Doctor Lecter, people were leery of her, especially in the FBI. They didn't seem to trust her, and moved around her like she was an outsider. This didn't sit well with Agent Starling, but there was nothing the young trainee could do, Crawford's favorite or not.

The ostracizing occurred outside of the workplace as well. People didn't recognize her as much as they did, but if they spied her and knew who she was, she was given a wide berth. Clarice began to wonder if this was how lepers felt, but discarded that thought quickly, realizing it would do her no good.

Her strong moral compass still used the FBI as magnetic north, but it shifted, needle quivering, every once in a while, as Clarice time and time again saw the corruption of the FBI, but turned a blind eye to it. She only wanted to help, and this was the only way she could, in her mind.

The solitary life didn't suit her, but since she had known no other, she moved through it. Existing. It was routine now for Clarice. Sleep, open eyes, wake up, eat food, work, eat food, close eyes, sleep. It had been spiced up only a few times in the past few years, but Clarice seemed to have forgotten what it was like to be free, or to take a day off, or even to enjoy herself. Even to live.

Clarice brought herself out of her thoughts as she padded around the basement, predatory stance with eyes wide and nostrils flared. Her stature was relaxed as a whole, but her body still screamed alert.

The sheep were in their pasture now, but that didn't mean there weren't still wolves in the forest.

Careful not to touch anything, she moved towards a table with beakers on it, before turning and calling to someone to "Get the drug team down here.", but out of the corner of her eye, the man nearest to her was reaching out to move one of the burners. An involuntary "No!" escaped her lips as she surged forward, cat-like, as she tried to stop him, but it was too late.

Fire seared outwards from the man, coughing forth smoke as it curled its fingers around the other agent, engulfing him. Not even a second after, its maw turned towards her, and Clarice was flung back into the wall, seared and unable to see. The air was thick and hot, but she managed to cry out, "Help us!", as a last, desperate plea. In answer, she heard the echo of boots, now loud against the concrete, moving away from her, and shouts to evacuate the area. With a last conscious breath, Clarice felt the needle slip again, this time pointing towards True North.

Contrary to popular belief, after a traumatic injury, one does not simply surge into consciousness. In fact, Clarice returned to the living in stages. The smell of antiseptic greeted her for a few brief instances, before she succumbed to the immense pain in her skull. Again, she awoke, this time to the feel of the bedsheets beneath her and on top of her, and the steady rhythm of her unlabored breathing. For the last time, she slowly awoke, clawing her way through the murkiness of unconsciousness. The steady beep of a heart rate monitor sounded, and Clarice shook herself slightly before becoming fully awake. Still, everything was dark, even as she moved her eyes around. Groping in the dark for something – anything, she moved her hand to the rail, pulling out her IV and setting rather unsteady feet to the ground before pausing. More shouts were heard, and she winced. They hurt her ears. Turning her head to face the noises, she questioned, "What happened?"

A returning voice did not give her the answer she was looking for. "You were in an accident, ma'am. You need to lie down." So Clarice did, but she was aware of the accident. She remembered everything down to the last footstep fading away. Waiting patiently and hoping that her question would be answered in full, the nurse was not helpful to her inquiry, but instead called the doctor, telling Clarice to "Wait here." Clarice rolled her eyes in the dark at this, wondering exactly where she was going to go with this silly blindfold on. That wasn't exactly standard procedure, she knew. Perhaps her face was still healing. She hoped they had caught the bad guys without her.

Clarice sensed the Doctor's presence as she heard him enter into the room, followed quickly by the strong scent of cologne. This triggered memories of the dungeon, and a certain other Doctor she hadn't the time to contemplate right now, not with all the changes in her life. He introduced himself politely, reaching out to touch her hand as she grasped at it in an attempt at a handshake. "Doctor Andrews here, Clarice. It's very nice to see you awake. Can you tell me what you remember?" Clarice relayed to him what she knew. "Oh, good, then it seems like you have no complications from your concussion." He paused here, and Clarice simply waited for him to continue. Surely a concussion wasn't the worst thing that could happen. "You were injured pretty badly. It's been two weeks. Your face sustained heavy burns, but using new technology, your face looks quite the same as it did. Your eyebrows and eyelashes even grew back, and you only have a few scars near your eyes, but those should heal soon enough." The Doctor said this like it was something to be very excited about.

Clarice nodded, and asked, "Is there a particular reason I'm blindfolded, Doctor?" Her accent tinged her words, tainting them with her anxiety.

She felt his obvious nervousness and pause, but he valiantly continued, speaking in slow, even tones. "Well, Special Agent Starling," Clarice noted the swift change from her name to title now. "Your eyes sustained a heavy blast, and although we repaired them as best as we could, the eyes are sensitive, and due to the heat, we were unable to restore them." At this, Clarice froze, her very slight, shallow breathing the only indicator that she was alive. What could she do now? How could there be a blind shepherd? "But we don't know the extent of the damage, so let's take that off and see." At this, he stopped abruptly, suddenly realizing his err. Clarice let it go, and helpfully moved her head towards him as he removed the gauze layer by layer.

As soon as she felt the last vestiges of it leave her face, she opened her eyes, still that clear blue, and looked around. She could tell where large objects were, it seemed. The Doctor was a short and stout man, hovering over her. Or at least, that's what she thought was the doctor, his voice had been over there last time he had spoken. She looked around the room, seeing the light and shadows barely moving. Clarice could detect a door, and that might be a nurse in the corner. Perhaps a chair. She relayed this information to the doctor with a, "Doctor, I think I can see some of you," She looked to where she estimated his eyes were. "And the door is over there," She pointed. "But not much else. Just bits of light here. How will I work this way?" She questioned, though the last was primarily for herself.

The Doctor seemed cheered by this news, she could tell by his voice. "Well that's fantastic! I think that's better than you could hope for. You should be ready to leave soon, but you'll need training for this. I am very sorry about what occurred, though." Sure you are, Doctor. "And the FBI has generously offered you severance pay, and I'm sure an agent will be by to send their condolences. There's even talk about giving you a medal for your bravery and sacrifice." So the Doctor was an optimist, it seemed. At this point in time, Clarice was not.

The FBI had deemed her unworthy to serve, so exactly what was she to do now? She nodded to him, and asked, "I would like to be released now." The Doctor stuttered that he most certainly didn't recommend that. "You said I'd be ready for release soon. I'm ready now. You said I'm healed. I want to go home." The last sentence felt cheap and young on her lips, but Clarice didn't care, and with an almost feral bear of her teeth, she sent him off to get the papers. When he returned, he began to read them to her, before she interrupted him, saying, "Doctor, don't waste your time, I've read those before. Just give me a pen and show me where I need to sign."

With a hearty sigh, he said, "I am very sorry about this, Clarice. Is there anyone that can take care of you?"

No. "Yes, my roommate, Ardelia. I'll just head home to her." And burden her? Clarice thought that to be unlikely. However, after signing the documents and awkwardly donning clothes, she asked for a taxi to be hailed, and gave the driver her address. As a last farewell, Doctor Andrews offered her a steel cane, which she accepted, loathing the feel of the cool metal.

Throughout the drive, Clarice was silent, contemplative. She wondered if perhaps she and her sight could have been saved if the others had turned around to help her. Surely then the burns wouldn't have been as extensive. With a sigh, Clarice resigned herself to never knowing, for she could not turn back time. However, there was an unsettled feeling in her stomach. After all the lambs she had saved, the lambs in her dreams kept screaming. After all the people she had saved in the name of the FBI, they still dropped her with nothing. As her brow furrowed in anger, the car rolled to a stop. She climbed out and maneuvered her cane up the steps. After a few tries, she even got the door open, slamming it behind her as she stepped through the threshold for the first time in weeks. Listening, she waited, but it seemed that Ardelia was gone too – abandoning her as well.

With a feral cry, Clarice threw the steel cane like a spear, relishing the sound it made as it clattered against the walls of her duplex, a grin that was all teeth made it onto her lips. After this, she hobbled into the living room, refusing to be or act disabled. She knew this duplex, and it would not let her down.

At all of this, a pair of deep crimson eyes watched, pleased.

Clarice huffed as she slumped down on the couch, hands steepled in a way eerily reminiscent of the Good Doctor, but she was too far gone to notice as she hung her head, hair limply falling around her face. This did not escape the notice of the presence which had followed her into this room, and now chose to announce his presence.

"Good afternoon, Clarice."

Slowly, the subject in question looked up, eyes wide and open despite unseeing, and Doctor Lecter was delighted at what he saw. Sure, her eyes were a slight shade paler, and her cheekbones were even higher, and her face gaunt, but to him, she looked very lovely. Her eyes met his, and he wondered exactly how much she could see. Red peered into blue, but blue did not look into the abyss, so the abyss did not devour her.

"I heard about your unfortunate plight in the papers, Clarice. I've been scanning them for you, you kn-" At this, he was cut off from his speech as she rose off the couch, glaring at where she thought he was. Doctor Lecter was amused, although not very happy about his words being cut off, but Clarice didn't seem to be afraid.

"Just leave. Go lick someone else's tears, unless you're here to call on me. In which case, please give me the respect of doing it quickly." She felt the air swirl around her, and his heat as his body came into contact with hers. The harpy was pressed delicately against her throat, and she felt his breath at her cheeks.

"Is that what you want, Clarice?" He questioned, and she looked down, subconsciously avoiding his gaze until he used the harpy to prop up her chin, reveling as her eyes finally showed fear. As he did not move to hold her, she backed up until she was seated on the couch again, sighing.

"Doctor Lecter, I don't know what I want. You knew the FBI defined me, and now, I don't have it." She sighed, and repeated her earlier question, with one essential difference, "How will I live this way?" At this, he smiled, and sat down on the other end of the couch, wrinkling his nose slightly at its poor quality. Only one question he could think of could answer her.

"Do the lambs scream, Clarice?"

"Yes, Doctor."

"Did they scream before all of this?"

"Yes, Doctor."

At this, Clarice looked up, her eyes alert and facing him as she asked, "What does that mean, Doctor?" before her eyes slid towards the phone she knew should be on the coffee table.

Seeing her obvious eye movements, however fruitless they might be, he said, "Ex-Special Agent Starling, exactly where would calling the FBI get you now? If you managed to apprehend me, would they do anything for you? Or would they just pat you on the back like always?" He questioned before pausing. A soft smile decorated his lips, glee shining in his eyes as he delighted in her. "Do you think if you put away the monster, that the lambs would stop screaming?"

Clarice appeared thoughtful, before responding slowly, every word careful and wary, as if fearing to leave her mouth. "No, Doctor. They would still keep screaming." She looked away from him then, closing her eyes as if that could shut him out. No, of course not. When she shut her eyes to sleep at night, it did not force him to leave her mind. It would not work now. "They don't have a name for what you are." Clarice paused again, opening her eyes as she asked, "Doctor Lecter, why are you here?"

"Why, Clarice, I'm here because you need me. That much should be evident." Her glare was frustrated back at him, and he was very happy at her transition from fearing him to being comfortable enough to show emotions around him. Or perhaps, he reflected at her earlier comments as she almost asked for death. Perhaps, she is simply too far gone. This he discarded immediately. The words were impulsive, and his Clarice was a warrior, she would persevere. He continued, saying, "Now, answer your other question. What are you going to do now? How will you live?" Before she could anger or speak, he said "However, Ex-Special Agent Starling, I really don't think you were living that much before. I've kept tabs on you, you know. You never reached out to me, but I reached out to you. I've seen you these past few years. Existing."

Clarice was thrown back to her thoughts before the explosion, her unhappiness with her life and everything in it. "I might be blind, Doctor, but I can still see your tricks."

Not wanting her to continue in that vein, he directed the conversation with a, "No, you were blind, but now you see? Perhaps you are the prophet Tieresias, who can see the truth, despite his disabilities."

"I see that the FBI dropped me like a damned hot potato."

"Yes, Clarice, they did. Would you expect anything else?"

"No, Doctor. The last thing I remember is crying for help and them leaving me. Everyone leaving me."

Doctor Lecter saw that the last sentence did not refer to the other agents, but perhaps to everyone else in her life. He quirked his head slightly in question, wondering if he was on that list. "Would you like me to leave too, Clarice? It would seem like I'm all you've got left, my dear." The last words of endearment were not meant to be said, but he suspected that she would not take that much notice.

"I don't know, Doctor Lecter. I've functioned alone for som-"

"Functioned, little Starling. Have you lived?"

"No."

"Perhaps then, you do not want me to leave, for I can show you the way."

"I'm blind, Doctor Lecter. You can't show me the way." At this, she paused, and curling her hand until the knuckles were white, she slowly released the grip, choice made. "But perhaps, I can feel where it is I'm supposed to go." Clarice extended her hand in his direction, palm upwards, reaching out to him as he had to her. Delight clouded his eyes – Doctor Lecter was sure his Clarice would never disappoint or bore him. Clasping her hand between his, he shifted his body closer to hers, holding her hand with his own warm grip. Slowly, he lowered his head to it, allowing her to feel his breath, to pull away. She did not. Doctor Lecter lowered his lips to the center of her palm, and was surprised when her hand arched up to meet him, fingers tentatively grazing, seeing his face.


End file.
